Black Beauty
by Scarlett Wilde
Summary: 2008 Sam overhears Dean talking dirty in Bobby's garage, and Dean's secret is no longer a secret.


Title: Black Beauty

Rating: NC-17, to be safe

Warnings: masturbation

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 754  
Fandom: Supernatural  
Disclaimer: I don't own so please don't sue  
Summary: Dean loves his car. A lot.  
Pairing: Dean/OC  
Archive: Nope  
Feedback: would be very much appreciated

Written: 2008

~ O ~

They'd been at Bobby's for a few days now and Sam had barely seen hide nor hair of Dean. Dean had been hiding out in the junk yard, in one of Bobby's private garages, under the pretense of fixing the Impala's engine for some imaginary rattle or whatever, Sam wasn't even sure. It wasn't like he'd been listening at the time anyway. Spark plugs, carburetors, all the same to him.

But now, with the prospect of a new hunt, Sam hoped Dean would snap out of the funk he'd been in for the last well, year or so. All he had to do was locate him and drag him back into the game. Bobby had told him to check the garages at the back of the house, the ones where he kept all his 'babies' – or at least that's what Sam had _thought _he'd said. It might have been 'babes' but he wasn't going to ask the grizzled old hunter to say it again, `cause seriously? Over a car?

After checking the first two, Sam paused outside the third, knowing he'd located his brother…from the pornographic sighs, moans, and gasps coming from inside the darkened shack.

"_Oh God, baby, you're so fucking beautiful… so smooth and perfect, just the way a woman's supposed to be…"_

Sam raised his brow. Where the hell had Dean picked up a girl from? He'd barely left the scrap yard since they'd gotten there.

"_Look at the curves on you… gonna run my hands all over those fucking curves… gonna let you know what it's like to be loved…"_

Sam bit into his lip, holding his breath so he didn't snort too loudly and interrupt Dean's libido, heaven forbid.

"_Oh, the things I could do to you if I had the time… the way I could make you feel..."_

The sounds of Dean rustling inside the car were louder, the sound of a zipper and gasping and sighing and panting… was, well, distracting. The sounds of pages fluttering made Sam laugh. Dean was wanking to a skin magazine again. Oh great, the Impala was gonna stink of Dean's come and yeah, the weather would have to turn hot again…

"_Oh yeah, baby… fuck, yeah… gonna come all over you… all over your fucking beautiful body…" _

Sam bit into the flesh of his hand, squeezing his eyes shut and trying his best to remain silent while Dean finished up.

"_Oh God, gonna… gonna… fucking… come…" _

Sam listened to each word punctuated by a sobbing breath as Dean beat the meat noisily, the slip-slapping audible even above Dean's less than quiet groans.

"_Oh fuck…"_ the word was drawn out, long, panting and breathlessly raw.

Sam had waited long enough… "Dean? You in there? Got a lead on a hunt in Texas. Bobby wants us to go check it out. You in there?"

He waited, listening to the rustling of clothes and pages and wondered which was worse to hear. The curses tailed off and he heard Dean call his name.

"Sammy?"

"Dean? You busy?" Sam called again, trying to keep the snigger out of his voice.

There was several coughs and a few more '_fucking close_'s and then Dean was sticking his head out of the wound down window.

"I was just polishing up the interior… you know how my baby likes to shine," he tipped Sam a wink and climbed out the door. "Hunt, you say? Well, I'd better go pack my shit then."

Sam nodded, pinching his lips together and forcing the corners of his mouth to remain non-smirky. "Yeah… if we set off now, we can stop somewhere for the night."

"Makes sense," Dean chuckled. "You already packed?"

"Yep, just waiting on you." Sam indicated the bag at his feet.

"Give me a few, then." He threw the keys at Sam and disappeared towards Bobby's house.

Sam dropped his bag in the trunk on top of the weapons hold and let himself into the passenger seat with the heady scent of Dean still permeating the air. On the back seat was a '67 catalog for Chevrolet Impalas… and no sign of a skin magazine anywhere. He even swiped his hand under the seat and came back, thankfully, empty handed.

Sam eyed the catalog and laughed. No way… but yeah, this was Dean, and his idea of polishing the interior would certainly include… oh God. He squirmed uncomfortably and hoped he'd kept himself to the driver's seat.

Masturbating over ancient car catalogs was a new kink, even for Dean.


End file.
